Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

5ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

                                               5ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

               

                    “Nothing in this world happens by chance”

It’s the sixth time nameless-guy shows up that week, in four days. (Twice on Monday and Thursday for both breakfast and lunch, and once on Wednesday and Friday for breakfast only, so far. Though how can she know whether he’ll be here by lunch again?)

Leesh is kind of counting.

Because, honestly. Why wouldn’t she? First off, there is not much she can do during her shift, whatsoever. Throughout the day it’s most likely she’ll end up working at the carwash just across the street instead of waiting tables like she’s supposed to (there is not enough people to take care of, and the ones that still show up, have an specific hour of the day to come. She’s sort of memorized their schedules so she knows when to be there).

Second off, the guy seems to be new in town. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be there. She can’t stop thinking that if he was, indeed, from London, he’d know the city has better places. And he doesn’t seem to be the kind of people that actually frequents this café (old, friendly and broke). He looks cool, actually.

Which leads us to the third off.

So, third off, he’s smoking hot. And Leesh is only a woman, for God’s sake. A woman who’s been working in this place for quite a few uneventful years, so it’s only normal she’d pay attention to someone new. New, awkward, and hot. And let’s face it, she’s not really good around hot people; still wonders at night how she managed to even look at PJ without losing control, let aside dating him. Also going places with him (not necessarily leaving her bed), which sounds more than impossible, at least to her.

See, she’s not a teenage girl anymore. She’s aware of it. And it’s not like she faints or something – though she’s been quite close to it during uni –, but the thing is: guys make it hard for her. Nameless-guy is just as hard to deal with. The second time he showed up he had shaved, and, apparently, had also gotten over his winter-phase, God bless him. Leesha still can’t figure what the hell he had in mind to shroud himself with freaking woollen sweaters right in the middle of July, but she really won’t ask him that.

Thankfully, he’s come to terms with the weather by now. And she’s not sure she should be relieved or panicked by such fact. Because, honestly, she had no idea what was hiding underneath all those layers, and, well. She could’ve lived without knowing it. The day nameless-guy showed up within loose tank tops and tight black jeans she wanted to kill herself, mostly.

There were black figures inked to his arms and collarbones, a few even on his hand (she noticed day 3 when he fumbled with the notes on the counter), and even though she wasn’t a fan of tattoos, particularly, those just seemed to fit him. They were disorganized on his arms, spread all over, leaving enough space between them to make it confusing to look at.

And call her creepy, but she watches him as he eats (again, there is nothing necessary to be done, and the idea sounds a lot more tempting than simply reading newspaper; getting to know the news about a city she’s in, but at the same time, is not. If that makes sense), and, like. He lives in his own little world, she can tell. Most part of the time the guy is lost in thoughts as he stares out the window, chewing as slow as possible.

Sometimes he just looks lost, so long gone into his thoughts she wonders if he even recognises where he’s sitting; sometimes he looks desperate, though, terrified. There were moments where he would scrub his hands over his face whilst walking into the café, his limbs all seeming tense, aching. He would then sit down and wait for Leesh to come over with the proper menu (they had one, and nameless-guy had mocked her on day 2 for actually showing him this time) (“so now you have a cook, huh? Sounds like an improvement”), taking his time to choose whatever it was, as if he had already too many things in mind, and that made the decision practically impossible.